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Certaine Sonets 



THIS group of sonnets, songs, and poetical translations 
appears never to have been published separately; yet it 
has always been in a sense separate from the rest of Sidney's 
poems. Though it is for the most part on the same theme 
as the Astrophel and Stella series, it was not included with 
that set of sonnets when it was first published in the 1591 
quartos, nor has it ever been treated as an integral part of the 
series. Of the thirty-one pieces here printed, eight were pub- 
lished for the first time in Constable's Diana in i 594 and the 
collection as a whole appeared first in the Arcadia folio of 
1598, where, under the title of Certaine Sonets, it precedes 
Astrophel and Stella, It is similarly placed, with the same 
title, in the 1 6 1 3 quarto, known as the Countess of Pembroke' s 
edition, and it is this version which has been followed in the 
present publication. The general flavor of the early text has 
been retained, with its peculiarities of spelling and capitaliza- 
tion, but, for the sake of uniformity, headings have been added 
to such poems as lacked them. 

As to the import of the poems, no little ingenuity has 
been spent in the endeavor to give a literal autobiographic in- 
terpretadon to them, as well as to the whole Astrophel and 
Stella series. In such an interpretation as has been con- 
structed, for example, by Pollard and Grosart, the separate 
poems have been related to definite events and periods in the 
friendship of Sidney with the Lady Penelope Devereux, the 
Stella of the sonnets. Thus the famous lyrics Love^ s Dirge 
and The Smokes of Melancholy have been taken to record 
Sidney's resentment and despair on hearing of Stella's 


marriage to Lord Rich. Similarly, the song with the refrain 
*'No! no! no! no!" and the two sonnets. When to my 
deadlie pleasure and All my sense, are given as records of 
meetings between Sidney and Lady Rich after her marriage, 
while the three sonnets beginning. In wonted walks. If I 
could think, and Oft have I musde, are regarded as recording 
earlier moods to which the interpreters with zealous industry 
have assigned occasions with date and circumstance; thus 
building up upon internal evidence a romantic history of the 
alleged love affair. 

All this is diverting, and doubtless the pursuit of an auto- 
biographic basis for the poems endues them for some readers 
with a new interest. It may be admitted, too, that the 
poems, by that air of reality and poignancy of feeling which 
is seldom reached in the great mass of contemporaneous and 
later sonneteering, give some color to the enterprise. But 
sonnet writing was epidemic in England and on the Conti- 
nent both in Sidney's generation and that preceding it. Imi- 
tation of Petrarch, and of his Italian and French disciples, 
was a marked symptom of the literary renaissance in England, 
when every verse-maker must have his Laura, his Diana, or 
his Stella to immortalize. This should put us on our guard 
against the disposition to find in these conventional and some- 
what artificial sonnets too close a record of veritable experi- 
ence. Most poets have had to protest against the desire on 
the part of some of their readers to find in their poems a sort 
of Journal intimg, and Sidney might have protested with 
especial reason. As one of the chorus of English poets who 
were sonnet-singing their lady loves, he was well aware how 
great a debt they all owed to Petrarch, Ron sard, Desportes, 
and others, not for the sentiments only, but also for the imagery 
and the very phrases of their verse. Many of the poems on 


which the autobiographic interpretation most heavily leans, 
appear on closer study to have their immediate inspiration in 
sonnets of Petrarch or Desportes. Even the solemn and me- 
lodious sonnet which closes this collection. Leave me, o Love, 
which reachest buL to dust, is plainly derived from Petrarch's 
farewell to love's dominion. If we look at them in the light 
of their origin, taking into account the literary and social cus- 
toms of the time, the poems seem to be less a lover's diary 
wherein he has set down the burning moments of a great pas- 
sion, than the record of such a Platonic friendship as was 
then the fashion, and to which the sonnet sequence was the 
appropriate tribute. 

It is fortunately unnecessary to seek for any adventitious 
source of interest in Sidney's sonnets. From the moment of 
their appearance, they have possessed a charm and attraction 
which time has not yet dulled. No doubt part of this charm 
is a reflection from the personality of their author; for, as Mr. 
Saintsbury says, in apologizing for giving so much space to 
Sidney in his History of English Literature, ^* his personality 
does seem in some strange way to have rayed out more influ- 
ence than that of any man in his generation." 

It would in fact be surprising if the fame of Sidney had not 
given his sonnets a special attraction apart from their intrinsic 
quality; for England has hardly produced since his day an- 
other hero equally noble and equally lovable. From his youth 
Philip Sidney was a rare spirit, admired and emulated even 
by his elders. His parents, themselves born to great names 
and accustomed to great dignities, seem to have considered 
him the brightest ornament of their lives, and his father spoke 
of him as '^ Lumen familiae suae." His preceptor at Cam- 
bridge, who could hardly have known him long, and his 
friend Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke, who was a life-long 

[ viii ] 
friend and intimate companion, united in thinking their rela- 
tion to Sidney a thing so memorable in their lives as to 
deserve recording in their epitaphs : the one had it engraved 
on his tomb that he had been Sidney's instructor, the other 
ordered inscribed over him the line ^^ Friend to Sir Philip 

The chief statesmen of the time regarded him as England's 
rising hope; poets and philosophers sought his company, 
scholars presented their theories, engineers their plans, and 
artists their paintings for his criticism. His reputation abroad 
was no less brilliant than at home. When the throne of 
Poland fell vacant, rumor nominated him for the succes- 
sion; William of Orange wrote in congratulation to Queen 
Elizabeth upon having in him a counselor of state so ripe 
and wise; Giordano Bruno, the philosopher-theologian, and 
Henri Estienne (Stephanus), the famous scholar-printer, 
each dedicated to him two books, in this following the ex- 
ample of Sidney's fellow-countrymen; for Spenser had be- 
fore this dedicated to him the Shepherd* s Calendar; as had 
Hakluyt the first volume of his Voyages and Stephen Gos- 
son his School of Abuse, which had drawn from Sidney the 
Apologie for Poetrie, 

He was the perfect type of Elizabethan Englishman. 
Well-born, — there was no better blood in England than 
flowed in his veins, — well-bred, loved and admired no less 
for his learning and his piety than for his valor and his per- 
sonal charm, Sidney was formed to be a national ideal. So 
he became while he still lived, but the chivalrous and heroic 
manner of his death raised him in his country's eyes and has 
canonized him in his country's memory. When he died the 
grief of England was echoed in every country of Europe; the 
Netherlands vainly requested the privilege of having him 


buried in their soil: Duplessis Mornay, the French diplo- 
matist, lamented the loss Christendom had suffered in his 
death, while Mendoza, the Spanish secretary, expressed his 
country's relief at the removal of so great a foe, in words that 
were matched by Elizabeth's statement that she had lost her 
mainstay in the struggle with Spain. He was buried at St. 
Paul's, and his funeral took on the character of a solemn pa- 
geant in which high and low took part. There seems hardly 
to have been another such funeral for a private man in Eng- 
land. It was accompanied by royal magnificence and by a 
depth of feeling that left long reverberations, so that a con- 
temporary chronicler relates, *Mt was accounted a sin for any 
gentleman of quality, for many months after, to appear at 
Court or City in any light or gaudy apparel." 

July, igo4. 



I ease can never find 

Page 2, 

Only Bondage gain 


Song : The Nightingale 


To the same tune 


Child Song 






Wo, wo ! 


Lothed paine 


O cruell paine 


Out of Horace 


Out of Catullus 


Out of Seneca 


The seeled dove 


The Satyr by E [dmund] D [yer] 


The Satyr [answered by Sidney] 


A constant faith 


Wonted walkes 


Rebell sence 


A Farewell 


Absence for to prove 



The 7. Wonders of England 


To the tune of Wilhemus van Nassaw, &c. 


The smokes of Melancholy 


My deadly pleasure 






From the Diana of Montemajor 


Song from Montemajor 


Love is dead 




Aspire to higher things 


Certaine Sonets 

if IP 
c£%rAijsr£ sobers. 

'I ease can never find/ 

SINCE shunning paine^ I ease can never find; 
Since hashfull dread seekes where he knowes me 
Since will is won^ and stopped ears are charmed; 
Since force doth faint ^ and sight doth make me blind; 

Since loosing long^ the faster still I hind; 
Since naked sence can conquer reason armed; 
Since heart in chilling fear e with yce is warmed; 
Infine^ since strife of thought hut marres the mind; 

lyeeld^ o Love! unto thy loathed yoke^ 
Tet craving law ofarmes^ whose rule doth teach ^ 
That hardly usde^ who ever prison hroke^ 
Injustice quit^ of honour made no hreach: 
Whereas if I a gratefull gardien have^ 
Thou art my Lord^ and I thy vowed slave. 


^Only Bondage gain/ 

WHEN Love^puft up with rage ofhy disdaine^ 
^^R^olv^d to make me pat t erne of his might; 
Likefoe^ whose wits inclined to deadly spite j 
Would often kill to breed more feeling paine; 

He would not^ arm^d with Beautie^ only raigne 
On those affect es which easily ye eld to sight; 
But vertue sets so high^ that reason's light^ 
For all his strife can onlie bondage gaine. 

So that I live to pay a mortallfee, 
^ead palsie sicke of all my chief est parts : 
Like those whom dreames make uglie monsters see^ 
^^nd can crie helpe with nought but grones and starts : 
Longing to have^ having no wit to wish: 
To starving minds such is God Cupid's dish! 


Song: *The Nightingale/ 

To the tune ^Non credo gia che piu infelice amante. 

TYi^ fire to see my wrongs^ for anger burneth; 
The aire in raine^for my affliction weepeth; 
The sea to ehhe ^ for grief e^ his flowing turneth; 
The earth with pitie dull^ the center keepeth: 
Fame is with wonder blazed; 
Time runnes away for sorow; 
7lace standeth still amazed^ 
To see my night ofevils^ which hath no morow. 
(tyilas^ all-onely she no pitie taketh^ 
To know my miseries^ but chaste and cruelly 
<tJ^yfall her glorie maketh : 
Tet still her eyes give to my flames their fuelL 

Fire^ burne me quite^ till sense of burning leave me! 
^^ire^ let me draw no more thy breath in anguish ! 
Sea^ drowned in thee^ of tedious life bereave me! 
Earth take this earthy wherein my spirits languish ! 

Fame^ say I was not borne! 

Time^ haste my dying hower! 

T^lace^ see my grave uptorne! 

Fire^ aire^ sea^ earth fame ^ time ^ place ^ shew your 


(ty4las^from all their helpe I am exiled: 

For hers am /, and death fear es her displeasure. 

Fie^ death I thou art beguiled! 

Though I be hers^ she makes of me no treasure. 


To the same tune. 

THE Nightingale — as soone as (t/f prill bringeth 
Unto her rested sense a perfect wakings 
While late hare earth ^proud of new clothing springeth - 
Sings out her woes^ a thorne her song-hooke making: 
<*^nd mournfully bewailing^ 
Her throate in tunes expresseth 
What grief e her breast oppresseth^ 
For Thereus'y^rr^, on her chaste will prevailing. 
O Philomela y^/W/ o take some gladnesse ! 
That here is just er cause of plaintfull sadnesse; 
Thine earth now springs! mine fadeth : 
Thy thorne without! my thorne my heart invadeth. 

<t/^las^ she hath no other cause of anguish 
But Thereus' love; on her by strong handwrokne; 
Wherein she suffring^ all her spirits languish^ 
Full womanlike complaines her will was brokne. 

But I — who dayly craving^ 

Cannot have to content me — 

Have more cause to lament me^ 

Since wanting is more woe than too much having. 
O Philomelay^^/r^/ o take some gladnesse ! 
That here isjuster cause of plaintfull sadnesse; 

Thine earth now springs! mine fadeth : 

Thy thorne without! my thorne my heart invadeth. 


Child Song. 

To the tune of Basciami vita mia. 

SLEEFE^ Babie mine^^esire! nurse Beautie singeth: 
Thy cries ^ o Babie^set my head on a king : 
The Babe cries ^way^ thy love doth keepe me waking! 

Lully^ lully^ my babe^ hope cradle bringeth 
Unto my children alway good rest taking: 
The babe cries ^way^ thy love doth keepe me waking! 

Since babie mine^from me thy watching springeth^ 
Sleepe then a lit le^ pap content is making: 
The babe cries nay ^ for that abide I waking! 



To the tune of the Spanish song^ Se tu senora 
no dueles de mi. 

/^ FAIRE, sweety when I do look on thee^ 
^^ In whom all ioyes so well agree^ 
Heart and soule do sing in me. 
This you heare is not my tongue^ 
Which once said what I conceaved^ 
For it was of use bereaved^ 
With a cruell answer stong, 

2y^, though tongue to roof he cleaved^ 
Fearing least he chastisde he: 
Heart and soule do sing in me, 

Ofaire^ o sweete^ &c, 

fust accord all musike makes; 

In thee just accord excelleth^ 

Where each part in such peace dwellethy 

One of other heautie takes. 

Since then truth to all minds telleth^ 
That in thee lives harmonic: 
Heart and soule do sing in me. 


Ofaire^ o sweety Jffr. 

They that heaven have knowne^ do say 
That who so that grace obtaineth^ 
To see whatfaire sight there raigneth^ 
Forced are to sing alway : 

So then^ since that heaven remaineth 
In thy face ^ I plainly see: 
Heart and soule do sing in me. 

Ofaire^ o sweete^ &c. 

Sweete^ thinke not lam at ease^ 
For because my cheefe part singeth; 
This song from deathe^s sorrow springeth: 
(*y4^s to Swanne in last disease: 

For no dumbness e nor death bringeth 
Stay to true lovers melody : 
Heart and soule do sing in me. 


These foure following Sonnets were made 
when his Ladie had paine in her face. 

^ Paine/ 

THE scourge of life ^ and deatVs extreame disgrace^ 
The smoke of he 11^ the monster called paine ; 
Long shamed to be accurst in every place^ 
By them who of his rude resort complaine; 
Lyke crafty wretch^ by time and travell tought^ 
His ugly evill in others^ good to hide^ 
Late harbers in her face whom nature wrought 
<ty€s treasure house where her best gifts do bide, 
<t/ind so by privi ledge of sacred seate^ 

(^yf seate where beauty shines and vertue raignes^ 
He hopes for some small praise since she hath great ^ 
Within her beames wrapping his cruell Staines, 
e^/?, saucy paine! let not thy errour last^ 
^yidore loving eyes she draws ^ more hate thou hast. 



Wo! wo^ to me! on me returne the smart! 
z^kly burning tongue loflth bred my mistressepaine: 
For oft in paine to paine my painefull heart 
With her due praise did of my state complaine, 
I praisde her eyes whom never chance doth move^ 

Her breath which makes a sower answer sweete^ 
Her milken breasts the nurse of child-like love^ 
Her legges (o legges^^ her ay well stepping feete. 
n?aine heard her praise^ and full of inward fire ^ 
{First sealing up my heart as pray ofhis\ 
He flies to her^ and boldnedwith desire^ 
Her face {this age's praise^ the thief e doth kisse ! 
O paine! I now recant the praise I gave ^ 
^^nd swear e she is not worthy thee to have. 


^Lothed paine/ 

^TT^HOU paine^ the onely guest ofloatVd constraint^ 
-^ The child of curse ^ man's weaknesse' foster-child^ 
Brother to woe^ and father of complaint : 
Thou paine^ thou hated paine ! from heaven exilde; 
How holds t thou her^ whose eyes constraint doth fear e? 
Whom curst do hlesse^ whose weaknesse vertues arme^ 
Who others^ woes and plaints can chastly heare: 
In whose sweete heav'n Angels of high thoughts 
What courage strange hath caught thy caitife hart^ 
Fear St not a face that oft whole harts devowres? 
Or art thou from above hid play this part ^ 
(*y€nd so no helpe gainst envy of those powers ? 
If thus alas: yet while those partes have wo^ 
So stay her toung^ that she no more say no. 


*0 cruell paine/ 

AND have I heard her say? o cruell paine! 
<*^nddoth she know what mould her he autie heares? 
(iSMournes she in truth ^ and thinks that others faine? 
Feares she tofeele^ andfeeles not others^ fear es? 
Or doth she think all paine the minde forbear es? 
That heavie earthy not fieri e sprites may plaine? 
That eyes weepe worse then hart in hloodie teares? 
That sense feeles more then what doth sense containe? 
lS[o , no^ she is too wise^ she knowes her face 
Hath not such paine as it makes other have : 
She knows the sicknesse of that perfect place 
Hath yet such health as it my life can save. 

But this she thinks^ our paine hye cause excuseth^ 
Where her who should rule paine ^ false paine 


Translated out of Horace^ which beginnes 

Re£tius vives. 

"^Zou better sure shall live^ not evermore 
■■- Trying high seas^ nor while seas rage^ you flee ^ 
dressing too much upon ill harbour d shore. 

The golden meane who loves ^ lives safely free 
From filth offoreworne house ^ and quiet lives ^ 
^^R^east from Court ^ where ennvie needes must be. 

The windes most oft the hugest T^ine tree greeves: 
The stately towers come downe with greater fall: 
The highest hills the bolt of thunder cleeves. 

Svill happes do fill with hope^ good happes appall 
With fear e of change^ the courage well preparde: 
Fowle Winters^ as they come^ away they shall! 

Though present times and past with evils be snarde^ 
They shall not last: with Citherne^ silent muse^ 
(^pollo wakes^ and bow hath sometime sparde. 

In hard estate^ with stowt shew valor use! 

The same man still in whom wise doome prevailes^ 
In too full winde draw in thy swelling sailes! 


Out of Catullus. 

NuLLi se dicit mulier mea nubere malle, 
Quam mihi non si se Jupiter ipse petat, 
Dicit sed mulier Cupido quae dicit amanti, 
In vento aut rapida scribere optet aqua. 

UNTO no hody^ my woman sa'ith^ she had rather a 
wife he 
Then to my selfe^ not though Jove grew a suter of hers. 
These he her words ^ hut a woman^s words to a love that 
is eager ^ 
In wind or water' s streame do require to he writ. 


Out of Seneca. 

Qui sceptra saevus duro imperio regit, 
Timet timentes, metus in Authorem redit. 

FAIRE, seeke not to he fear d; most lovely^ beloved by 
thy servants; 
For true it is^ that they fear e many whom many feare. 


^The seeled dove/ 

LIKE as the T)ove^ which seeled up dothfiie^ 
Is neither freed^ nor yet to service hound^ 
But hopes to gaine some helpe by mounting hie^ 
Till want of force do force her fall to ground. 

Right so my minde^ caught by his guiding eye^ 

(^nd thence cast off^ where his sweete hurt be founds 
Hath never leave to live^ nor doome to dye; 
^]S(or held in evilly nor suffered to be sound. 

But with his wings of fancies up he goes^ 

To hie conceits whose fruits are oft but small^ 

Till wounded^ blind^ and wearied spirite^ lose 

Both force to fie and knowledge where to fall. 

O happie ^ove^ if she no bondage tried! 

^iJMore happie /, might I in bondage bide! 


*The Satyr' by E.D. 

PROMETHEUS when first from heaven hie 
He brought downe fire^ ere then on earth not seene; 
Fond of delight ^ a Satyr e standing by^ 
Gave it a kisse^ as it like sweete had beene. 

Felling forthwith the other burning power ^ 

Wood with the smart with showts and shryking 

He sought his ease in river ^field^ and bower; 
But for the time his grief e went with him still. 

So silly /, with that unwonted sight 

In humane shape an (^ylngell from above^ 
Feeding mine eyes^ the impression there did light; 
That since Irunne and rest as pleaseth love^ 

The difference is^ the Satire's lippes^ my hart; 

He for a while ^ I evermore have smart. 

*The Satyr' [answered by Sidney]. 

ASatyre once did runne away for dread^ 
With sound of home ^ which he him selfe did blow: 
Fearing and feared.^ thus from himself hefled^ 
deeming strange evill in that he did not know. 


Such causelesse feares when coward minds do take^ 
It makes them file that which they faine would have: 
<ty4s this poore beast who did his rest for sake^ 
Thinking not why^ hut how himselfe to save, 

Sven thus might I, for doubts which I conceave 
Of mine owne wordes^ my owne goodhap betray^ 
^ylnd thus might ^for feare of may be^ leave 
The sweete pursute of my desired pray. 
Better like I thy Satyr e^ deer est T)yer^ 
Who burnt his lips to kissefaire shining fire. 



*A constant faith/ 

Y mistress e lowers and saith I do not love: 
I do protest^ and seeke with service due^ 
In humble mind a constant faith to prove; 
But for all this I can not her remove 
From deepe vaine thought that I may not he true, 

Ifothes might serve^ even by the Stygian lake^ 
Which Toets say^ the gods them selves do fear e^ 
I never did my vowed word forsake : 
For why should /, whom free choise slave doth make? 
She what inface^ then in my fancie beare. 

(tJMy Muse^ therefore — for onely thou canst tell — 
Tell me the cause of this my causelesse woe^ 
Tell how Hit h ought disgraced my doing well: 
Tell how my joyes and hopes thus fowly fell 
To so lowe ebbe^ that wonted were to flow e, 

O this it is^ the knotted straw is found. 

In tender harts ^ small things engender hate: 

<^ horse'' s worth laid wast the Troy an ground: — 

(*yl three-foote stoole in Greece, made Trumpets 

(ty^n Assess shade ere now hath bred debate. 


^Greekes themselves were mov^dwith so small cause ^ 
To twist those broyles^ which hardly would untwine: 
Should Ladles faire be tyed to such hard lawes^ 
<*yTs in their moodes to take a lingring pawse? 
I would it not^ their mettall is too fine. 

i^yidy hand doth not beare witnesse with my hart^ 
She saith^ because I make no wofull laies^ 
To paint my living death ^ and endlesse smart: 
(*yTnd so^for one that felt god Cupid's dart^ 
She thinks I leade and live too merrie daies. 

(*y4re Poets then the onely lovers true? 

Whose hearts are set on measuring a verse: 
Who thinke themselves well blest ^ if they renew 
Some good old dump e^ that Chaucer's mistresse knew^ 
(*yfnd use but you for matters to rehearse. 

Then^ good Apollo! do away thy bowe! 

Take harp and sing in this our versing time: 
^yfnd in my braine some sacred humour flow e: 
That all the earth my woes^ sighes^ teares may know: 
(ty^nd see you not that I fall now to ryme! 


^yisfor my mirth ^ how could I but be glad^ 

Whilst that^ me thought^ I justly made my host 
That onely I the onely <*JMistresse had? 
But now^ if ere my face with joy be clad; 
Thinke Hanniball did laugh when Carthage lost! 

Sweet Ladie^ as for those whose sullen cheare^ 
Compared to me^ made me in lightnesse found: 
Who Stoic k'like in clow die hew appear e : 
Who silence force ^ to make their words more deare: 
Whose eyes seeme chaste^ because they looke on ground: 
Beleeve them not; for T*hisicke true doth finde^ 
Choler adust is joyed in woman-kinde. 


^Wonted walkes/ 

T N wonted walkes^ since wonted fancies change^ 
-■- Some cause there is^ which of strange cause doth rise: 
For in each thing wherto mine eye doth range^ 
T*art of my paine me seemes engraved lyes. 

The ^^R^kes^ which were of constant mind the marke^ 
In clyming steepe^ now hard ref us all show : 
The shading woods seeme now my Sunne to darke^ 
^yfnd stately hilles disdaine to looke so low. 

The restfull Caves now restlesse visions give; 
In ^ales^ I see each way a hard assent: 
Like late mowne meades^ late cut from Joy I live; 
(*yllas^ sweete Brookes do in my teares augment: 
^R^kes^ woods^ hilles^ caves ^ dales^ meads ^ brookes^ 

answere me: 
Infected mindes infect each thing they see. 



^Rebell sence/ 

F I could thinke how these my thoughts to leave ^ 
Or thinking still my thoughts might have good end: 
If rehell sence would reason'' s law receave: 
Or reason foyld would not in vaine contend: 

Then might I thinke what thoughts were best to 

Then might I wisely swimme^ or gladly sinke. 

If either you would change your cruell hart^ 
Or cruell {still) time did your heautte staine: 
If from my soule this love would once depart^ 
Or for my love some love I might ohtaine: 

Then might I hope a change or ease ofminde^ 
By your good helpe^ or in my selfe to finde. 

But since my thoughts in thinking still are spent ^ 
With reason^ s strife^ by sense's overthrowne^ 
Tou fairer stilly and still more cruell hent^ 
I loving still a love that loveth none^ 

lyeeld and strive^ I kisse and curse the paine: 
Thought^ reason^ sense^ timely ou^ and /, maintains 


A Farewell. 

OFT have Imusde^hut now at length I finde 
Why those that die^ men say they do depart: 
T)epart^ a word so gentle to my minde^ 
Weakely did seeme to paint deatVs ougly dart. 

But now the starres^ with their strange course do hinde 
(^JMe one to leave ^ with whom I leave my hart: 
I hear e a crye of spirits^ faint and hlinde^ 
That parting thus my chief est part I part, 

T^art of my life^ the loathed part to me^ 

Lives to impart my wearie clay some breath : 
But that good part ^ wherein all comforts be^ 
^]S[ow dead^ doth shew departure is a death. 

Tea worse then death ^ death parts both woe and 


From joy I part ^ still living in annoy. 


* Absence for to prove/ 

FINDING those heames^which I must ever love^ 
To marre my minde; and with my hurt to please: 
I deemed it best some absence for to prove^ 
If further place might further me to ease, 

(^yidy eyes thence drawne^ where lived all their light^ 
Blinded forthwith in darke dispaire did lye: 
Like to the (t^ldolde with want of guiding sight ^ 
^eepe plunged in earthy deprived of the skie. 

In absence blind^ and wearied with that woe^ 
To greater woes by presence I returne : 
Sven as the fly e^ which to the flame doth goe^ 
T*leased with the light ^ that his small corse doth burne: 
Faire choice I have^ either to live or dye 
(^ blinded z^M^olde^ or else a burned fly e! 


The 7. Wonders of England. 

NEERE Wilton sweete^ huge heaped of stones are 
But so confusde^ that neither any eye 
Can count them just ^ nor reason reason trye^ 
What force brought them to so unlikely ground. 

To stranger weights my minde s waste soile is bound^ 
Of passion hilles reaching to reason's skie^ 
From fanciers earth passing all numbers bound^ 
T^assing all gh esse ^whence into me should fly e 
So mazde a masse ^ or if in me it growes^ 
(*y4 simple soule should breed so mixed woes. 


HE Bruertons have a Lake^ which when the 

(t/Ipproching warmes (not else^^ dead logges up sends^ 
From hideous depth; which tribute when it ends^ 
Sore signe it is^ the Lord^s last thred is spun. 

(t^Pkfy lake is sense ^ whose still streames never runne^ 
But when my Sunne her shining twinnes there bends; 
Then from his depth with force in her begunne^ 
Long drowned hopes to watrie eyes it lends : 

But when thatfailes^ my dead hopes up to take^ 
Their master is fair e warned his will to make. 


WE have a fish ^ by strangers much admirde^ 
Which caught^ to cruell search yeelds his chief e 
( With gall cut out) closde up againe by art^ 
Tet lives untill his life be new requirde, 

(^^ stranger fish ^ myselfe — not yet expirde^ 

Though rapt with beautie's hooke — I did impart 
(*yi4y selfe unto th^ Anatomy desirde^ 
Insteed of gall ^ leaving to her my hart: 

Tet live with thoughts closde up^ till that she will 
By conquesfs right ^ insteed of searching^ kilL 

PEAKE hath a Cave^ whose narrow entries finde 
Large roomes within^ where droppes distill amaine: 
Till knit with cold^ though there unknowne remaine^ 
T^ecke that poore place with <^^lablaster linde, 

(iJMine eyes the str eighty the roomie cave^ my minde; 
Whose clowdie thoughts let fall an inward raine 
Of sorrowers droppes till colder reason binde 
Their running fall into a constant vaine 

Oftrueth^farre more then ^^lablaster pure! 

Which though despisde^yet still doth truth endure. 



FIELD there is^ where if a stake be prest 
T^eepe in the earthy what hath in earth receipt^ 
Is changed to stone ^ in hardnesse^ cold^ and weight: 
The wood above ^ doth soone consuming rest. 

The earthy her eares: the stake is my request: 

Ofwhich^ how much may pierce to that sweet seate^ 
To honor turned^ doth dwell in honor s nest; 
Keeping that for me ^ though void of wonted heate : 
But all the rest^ which feare durst not applie^ 
Failing themselves^ with withered conscience^ dye. 


F ships^ by shipwrack cast on Albion coast^ 
Which rotting on the rockes^ their death do dye: 
From wodden bones^ and bloud of pitch doth fie 
(*yt bird which gets more life then ship had lost. 

(tJMy ship^ desire^ with winde of lust long tostj 
Brake on fair e cleeves of constant chastitie: 
Where plagued for rash attempt^ gives up his ghost ^ 
So deepe in seas of vert ue beauties ly. 
But of this death flies up a purest love^ 
Which seeming lesse^yet nobler life doth move. 



HESE wonders Sngland breedes. The last remaines, 
(tyi Ladle ^ in despite of nature^ chaste. 
On whome all love^ in whome no love is plaste^ 
Where fair enesse yeelds to wisdome^s shortest raines. 

(tyin humble pride ^ a skorne that favour staines: 
(*^ woman's mouldy but like an <*y^ngell graste^ 
<^y4n AngelVs mind^ but in a woman caste : 
(t/4 heaven on earthy or earth that heaven containes: 

lS(ow thus this wonder to myselfe I frame; 

She is the cause that all the rest I am. 


To the tune of Wilhemus van Nassaw^ &c. 

WHO hath hisfancie pleased^ 
With fruits ofhappie sight ^ 
Let here his eyes be raised 
On nature'' s sweetest light > 
(*yl light which doth dissever^ 
(t/Indyet unite the eyes; 
(tyf light which dying never ^ 
Is cause the looker dyes. 

She never dies but lasteth 

In life of lover s hart^ 

He ever dies that wasteth 

In love his chief est part. 
Thus is her life still guarded^ 

In never dying faith: 

Thus is his death rewarded^ 

Since she lives in his death. 

Looke then and dye^ the pleasure 
^oth answere well the paine: 
Small losse ofmortall treasure^ 
Who may immortall gaine, 

Immortall be her graces^ 
Immortall is her minde : 
They fit for heavenly places^ 
This heaven in it doth binde. 


But eyes these beauties see not^ 
lS(or seme that grace descryes: 
Yet eyes deprived he not^ 
From sight of her fair e eyes^ 

Which as of inward glorie 
They are the outward seale^ 
So may they live still sorie 
Which die not in that weak. 

But who hath fancies pleased^ 
With fruits ofhappie sight ^ 
Let here his eyes he raysed 
On nature's sweetest light! 


The smokes of Melancholy. 

WHO hath ever felt the change of love ^ 
(*^nd knowne those pangs that the looser s prove ^ 
<tJMay paint my face without seeing mee; 
(*^nd write the state how my fancies bee: 
The loth some buds growne on sorrowers tree. 

But who by hearesay speakes^ and hath not fully felt 
What kind of fires they be in which those spirits melty 

Shall gesse^ andfaile^ what doth displease; 

Feeling my pulse ^ misse my disease, 

O no! O no! tryall onely shewse 

The bitter juice of forsaken woes^ 

Where former blisse present evils do staine^ 

Nay ^former blisse addes to present paine; 

While remembrance doth both states containe, 

Come^ learners^ then to me^ the modell of mishappe ! 
Engulfed in despaire^ slid downe from fortunes lappe! 

^yfnd as you like my double lot^ 

Tread in my steppes^ or follow not! 


For me^ alas^ I am full resolv'd^ 

Those hands^ alas^ shall not he dissolved; 

TS(or hreake my word^ though reward come late; 

lS(orfaile my faith in my failing fate ; 

lS[or change in change^ though change change my state. 

But alwayes one my selfe with eagle-eyde trueth to fie 
Up to the sunne^ although the sunne my wings dofrie: 

For if those flames hurne my desire^ 

Yet shall I die in Phaenix^r^. 


*My deadly pleasure/ 

WHEN, to my deadlie pleasure^ 
JVhen^ to my livelie torment^ 
Ladie^ mine eyes remained^ 
yoyned^ alas^ to your heames. 

With violence of heavenly 
Beautie tied to vertue^ 
^\R^son ahasht retyred; 
Gladly my senses yeelded. 

gladly my senses yeelding^ 
Thus to betray my harf s fort; 
Left me devoid of all life. 

They to the heamie Sunnes went^ 
Where by the death of all deaths; 
Finde to what harme they hastned. 

Like to the silly Sylvan, 
Burned by the light he best liked^ 
When with a fire he first met. 

Tet^yet^ a life to their death ^ 
Lady ^ you have reserved^ 
Lady^ the life of all love. 


For^ though my sense he from me^ 
(ly^nd I be dead who want sense; 
Yet do we both live in you. 

Turned anew by your meanes^ 
Unto the flow re that ay turnes^ 
(*yls you^ alas^ my Sunne bends. 

Thus do I fall to rise thus^ 
Thus do I dye to live thus^ 
Changed to a change^ I change not. 

Thus may I not be from you! 
Thus be my senses on you! 
Thus what I thinke is of you ! 
Thus what I seeke is in you! 
(ty^ll what I am^ it is you ! 



To the tune of a lS[eapoUtan song, which beginneth : 

, no^ no^ no. 

No, no^ no^ no^ I cannot hate my foe ^ 
(*yf It hough with cruellfire^ 
First throwne on my desire^ 
She sackes my rendred sprite. 

For so f aire aflame embraces 

(*yfll the places^ 
Where that heat of all heates springeth^ 

That it hringeth 
To my dying heart some pleasure; 

Since his treasure 
Burneth bright in fairest light. !7y^, «<?, no^ no. 

lS[oj^ no^ no^ no^ I cannot hate my foe ^ 
(tAlthough^ &c. 

Since our lives be not immortally 

But to mortall 
Fetters tyed^ do waite the hower 

Of death e^s power. 
They have no cause to be sorie^ 

Who with glorie 
Snd the way^ where all men stay, ^N^, no^ no^ no. 


2yi^, no^ no^ no^ I cannot hate myfoe^ 
(t/Ilthough^ &c, 

lS(oman doubts^ whom heautie killeth^ 

Faire death feeleth ; 
(ty^nd in whome faire death proceedeth^ 

^lorie hreedeth : 
So that /, in her heames dyings 

Glorie trying; 
Though in paine^ cannot complaine. No^ no^ no^ no. 


To the tune of a 1S(eapolitan V'tllanelL 


L my sense thy sweetnesse gained^ 
Thy f aire haire my heart enchained; 
zJ^y poore reason thy words moved^ 
So that thee like heaven I loved. 

Fa la la leridan^ dan dan dan deridan : 
T)an dan dan deridan deridan del: 
While to my minde the out side stood 
For messenger of inward good, 

^]S(ow thy sweetnesse sowre is deemed^ 
Thy haire not worth a haire esteemed: 
Treason hath thy words removed^ 
Finding that hut words they proved. 

Fa la la leridan^ dan dan dan deridan : 
^an dan dan deridan deridan dei: 
For no f aire signe can credit winne^ 
If that the substance faile within, 

^IShmore in thy sweetnesse glorie! 
For thy knitting haire he sorie! 
Use thy words hut to bewaile thee! 
That no more thy heames availe thee. 


T)an^ dan. 
Lay not thy colours more to view^ 
Without the picture be found true. 

Wo to me ! alas^ she weepeth ! 
Foole in me! whatfollie creepeth^ 
Was I to blaspheme enraged^ 
Where my soule I have engaged? 
T)an^ dan^ 
T)an^ dan. 
(t/Ind wretched I must ye eld to this; 
The fault I blame her chastnesse is. 

Sweetnesse^ sweetly pardon folly ; 
Ty me^ hair e^ your captive holly; 
Words^ words of heavenlie knowledge^ 
Know my words their faults acknowledge. 
T)an^ dan^ 
T)an^ dan, 
<^nd all my life I will confess e^ 
The lesse I love^ I live the lesse. 


Translated out of the Diana of Montemajor 
in Spanish, Where Sireno a shepheard, pull- 
ing out a litle of his MistresseZ)/^;^<^V haire, 
wrapt about with greene silke; who now had 
utterlie forsaken him : to the haire he thus 
bewaild himselfe. 

WHAT changes here^ o haire^ 
I see since I saw you! 
How ill fits you this greene to weare^ 
For hope the colour due. 
Indeed I well did hope^ 
Though hope were mixt withfeare^ 
^JS[o other shepheard should have scope^ 
Once to approch this heare. 

<*yfh haire^ how many dayes^ 
<*JMy Diane made me shew^ 
With thousand prety childish plaies^ 
If I ware you or no! 
^ytlas^ how oft with teares^ 
O teares of guilefull breast^ 
She seemed full of jealous feares^ 
Whereat I did hut j east. 


Tell me^ o haire of gold^ 
If I then faultie he^ 
That trust those killing eyes Iwould^ 
Since they did warrant me. 
Have you not seene her mood^ 
What stre antes of tear es she spent ^ 
Till that I sware my faith so stood^ 
(t^Is her, words had it bent ? 

Who hath such heautie seene 
In one that changeth so ? 
Or where one^s love so constant hene^ 
Who ever saw such woe ? 
(*ylh haire ^ are you not griev'd^ 
To come from whence you he ; 
Seeing how once you saw I liv^d^ 
To see me as you see ? 

On sandie hanke of late ^ 
I saw this woman sit. 
Where, sooner die than change my state^ 
She with her finger writ: 
Thus my heleefe was staid. 
Behold Lovers mightie hand 
On things were by a woman said, 
^yind written in the sand. 


The same Sireno in Montemajor holding his 
mistresse glasse before her, looking upon 
her while she viewed herselfe, thus sang: 

OF this high grace with blisse conjoyrid 
No further debt on me is laid; 
Since that in selfe same mettall coin^ d^ 
Sweet Ladie^you remaine well paid. 
For if my place give me great pleasure^ 
Having before me ^]S(ature^s treasure^ 
In face and eyes unmatched being: 
Tou have the same in my hands ^ seeing 
What in your face mine eyes do measure^ 

lS[or thinke the match unevenly made^ 
That of those beames in you do tarie: 
The glasse to you but gives a shade ^ 
To me mine eyes the true shape carie. 
For such a thought most highlie prized^ 
Which ever hath Love's yoke despised: 
Better then one captiv" d perceiveth^ 
Though he the lively forme receiveth : 
The other sees it but disguised. 



^Love is dead.' 

ING out your belles^ let mourning shewes be spread^ 

For love is dead: 

(^ylll love is dead^ infected 

With plague ofdeepe disdaine: 

Worth as nought worth rejected^ 

(*y4nd Faith /aire scorne doth gaine. 

From so ungratefull fancie^ 

From such afemallfran%ie^ 

From them that use men thus^ 

Good Lord^ deliver us! 

Weepe^ neighbours^ weepe; do you not heare it said 
That Love is dead? 

His death-bed^ peacock^ sfollie; 
His winding sheete is shame; 
His wtll^ false-seeming holie; 
His sole exectour^ blame. 
From so ungratefully &'c. 

Let n^irge be sung^ and Trentals rightly read^ 
For Love is dead: 

Sir Wrong his tombe ordaineth : 
<*JMy mistresse ^JMarble-heart^ 
Which Epitaph containeth^ 
^Her eyes were once his dart^ 
From so ungratefully Iffc. 


(*y4las^ I lie: rage hath this err our bred; 
Love is not dead; 

Love is not dead^ hut sleepeth 

In her unmatched mind^ 

Where she his counsell keepeth^ 

Till due desert she find. 

Therefore from so vile fancie^ 
To call such wit afranzie: 
Who love can temper thus^ 
Good Lord^ deliver us! 



THOU blind marCs marke^ thou foolers selfe-chosen 
Fond fanciers scum^ and dregs of scattered thought: 
Band of all evils ^ cradle of causelesse care^ 
Thou web ofwill^ whose end is never wrought: 

desire! desire! I have too dearely bought^ 
With prise of mangled mind thy worthlesse ware; 
Too long^ too long asleepe thou hast me brought^ 
Who should my mind to higher things prepare. 

But yet in vaine thou hast my ruine sought^ 
In vaine thou madest me to vaine things aspire^ 
In vaine thou kindlest all thy smokie fire! 

For vertue hath this better lesson taught — 
Within my selfe to seeke my onelie hire^ 
desiring nought but how to kill desire. 


'Aspire to higher things/ 

T EAVE me^ Love^ which reachest but to dust^ 
^^•^(*ytnd thou^ my mind^ aspire to higher things: 
^row rich in that which never taketh rust: 
Whatever fades ^ hut fading pleasure brings, 

n)raw in thy beames^ and humble all thy might 
To that sweet yoke where lasting free domes be: 
Which breakes the clowdes and opens forth the light ^ 
That doth both shine and give us sight to see, 

O take fast hold; let that light be thy guide 
In this small course which birth drawes out to death^ 
(t/tnd thinke how evill becommeth him to slide^ 
Who seeketh heav^n^ and comes of heavenly breath. 
Then farewell^ world^ thy uttermost I see: 
Sternall Love^ maintaine thy life in me! 

Splendidis longum valedico nugis. 





NO. ^<?^